


Commonality

by loosescrew



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 15:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10516431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosescrew/pseuds/loosescrew
Summary: She had become his safe place. And as long as she was fine with it, he'd always find his way here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from a list of trouble maker/good kid prompts on tumblr:
> 
> "Every time I get in a fight you patch me up but now I'm the one patching you up after you tripped on thin air."

"Would you  _quit_  whining?" John held her calf, careful not to let his hands stray down to her ankle. That was the easy part. "Stop wiggling so much!"

Claire squeezed her eyes shut but complied, keeping her leg still. " _It_ really _hurts_!"

Other than the surging red color around her ankle, it looked fine. There had been a loud pop when she landed but no bones were out of place. "It's called a sprained ankle, sweets, of course it's gonna hurt."

"I've had them before, thank you very much," Her eyes were glossy and she rubbed her red nose with the pads of her fingers. "It's just been awhile since I've had one."

" _God_ , would you look at that? Me too!" He said with mock enthusiasm but she was not amused in the  _slightest_. "Just one more thing we have in common!"

The hard part was not letting his hands wander  _upwards_.

Claire was wearing one of those spandex leotards that left nothing to the imagination. A thin coat of sweat glimmered against her exposed skin where the light touched and John wanted nothing more than to run his hands up her thighs and brush that one spot she liked the most.

"You know," She said sourly. "I really  _don't_  appreciate your observations right now."

"Do you want my help or not, Claire?"

Claire clenched her jaw, looking away shamefully.

 _Normal_  people would take it slow, do warm ups and exercises before jumping back into a difficult routine. Even with muscle memory, nobody should aim for something so laborious after being out of the game for years.

But no,  _not_  Claire. She  _had_  to plunge right in.

Ballet was  _boring_ , but Claire made it look  _interesting_  like it was worth all the money these richies spent on it. The way she slid across the floor captivated him; her red hair looked like flames dancing around her. Ballet also explained her ridiculous flexibility.

John  _knew_  he should've said something earlier but he really didn't want to interrupt her. Claire hopped and missed the landing, shrieking from the impact. It was a miracle the neighbors hadn't come knocking yet.

John helped her up, letting her familiar body lean against his on the leg she could still use. He got a nice whiff of her floral scented shampoo. Claire always smelled nice.

"Why did this happen to me?" She whispered, her breath fanning against his neck. John opened his mouth to speak. "Don't answer that."

"Then don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

She sighed deeply. "Just take me to the couch."

"As you wish, Queenie."

He set her down on the couch. She situated herself as best as she could, propping her leg on the cushions. John retreated to her kitchen, grabbing a rag off the handle of the oven and a handful of ice from the dispenser in her fridge.

Sitting Indian style on the floor, he placed the ice bag on the area. Claire let out a loud hiss when it came in contact but she held in her tears.

"Where're the parental figures?" John asked, in an effort to distract her.

"Out." She let out through grit teeth.

" _Again_?"

"Business party at six," Claire moved again, finally getting comfortable. "I think they're celebrating the opening of a new location. Mom went with him. I dunno if they're renting a hotel or coming back after midnight. So it's just you and me.  _Again_."

He gestured to her ankle. "This  _totally_  kills what I had in mind, though."

Claire scoffed. "One or two days won't hurt you."

"It might," He replied earnestly and Claire rolled her eyes. "You still got bandages?"

Claire replaced his hand with hers. "They're in my bathroom, with the other stuff."

Her bathroom had become a pharmacy over the weeks. Pain killers were behind her mirror and various bandages were tucked in the cabinet under the sink. A bottle of rubbing alcohol sat on her sink from last Sunday when he came over with a bleeding arm—another  _gift_  from his old man for shattering one of the plates. That had been the worst one yet. Claire fell asleep by his side, crying.

John took the cloth elastic and a pair of scissors, heading downstairs.

He couldn't count how many times he came over unannounced after eleven on a school night, fading in and out of consciousness. How he managed to get here  _every time_  was still a complete mystery to both of them.

John knew should stop coming over. Honestly, he should stop seeing her. They've been disgustingly attached at the hip since the Monday after detention. He found that he didn't  _mind_  her constant presence at all.  _He_  was the one seeking her out and she did nothing to stop him—actually, she encouraged it.

Whatever they had wasn't meant to last because it would end by his hands. He was a walking hazard, with a warning label of fucking things over. Or maybe he would luck out and she would do it first. He was fighting against time.

But he just couldn't bring himself to end it.

"It's okay, I can do it." She said when he started wrapping the cloth along the outside of her foot. John pushed her hand away.

"Allow me."

Claire fell back against the arm rest with pursed lips, meticulously watching him. "How come you're here so early?"

"… It's eight, Claire. You should consider yourself  _lucky_  I got here when I did," Claire hastily mumbled something under breath and John cracked a smile. It was probably an insult but it didn't bother him. "Boss let me go for the day, says I've been workin' too many hours and not gettin' enough rest."

"Oh."

"So, Cherry," She squirmed when he gingerly lifted her calf. "Do I wanna know what  _exactly_  you were trying to accomplish?"

Claire pursed her lips, tapping on her forearm with one finger. "I'm thinking about going back to dancing."

"I got that part," He replied sarcastically. " _And_?"

"… _And_  since all of my friends ditched me, I can go back to how it used to be."

He furrowed his brows, his hands momentarily paused. "Wait. You mean to tell me your friends  _convinced_  you to stop dancing?"

She held up her palms innocently. "They said ballet made me too high maintenance."

John's mouth opened and closed. "I didn't know bein' labeled too high maintenance is a thing… But who cares?"

"I cared," She said softly he almost didn't hear it. "It took up my social life. Between school and dance recitals, I had no time for them. They weren't okay with that. So I quit halfway through my sophomore year."

He went back to the process. "And look where that got you. Skippin' school to go shopping and landed in Saturday detention with me and the rest of the boogie band junior year."

"It's not so bad. Could've been worse. Could've been  _better_  too," She replied nonchalantly and John sent her a sneer that made her smirk. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Would you be okay with me going back?" Claire asked curiously.

John shook his head. "Doesn't matter what I think."

"It matters to  _me_."

It was such a simple reply and John didn't think Claire understood the impact behind her words. No, Claire was smarter than that. She knew; that's why she said it.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "It shouldn't."

"But it does," Claire countered easily, always brutally honest whereas he was ambiguous. "Your opinions matter to me."

He licked the inside corner of his mouth. "Honestly, Claire, you should do whatever makes you happy and fuck what anyone thinks. It's really  _that_  simple sometimes."

"So you're totally cool with not seeing me every day?"

John flicked his hair out of his face. "We go to the same school, ya know."

"That's not the same."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "We'll just have to schedule meetings. Under the bleachers. Parking lots… In the closet."

Claire giggled. "That's so…  _cliché_. I thought we were better than that."

He couldn't deny that. "... Can I still come over after work?"

"Of course."

John cut the bandage, signaling the end. "It's settled."

Claire sat up slowly, examining her foot. She touched the bandages hesitantly, afraid that she would mess up his work. It wasn't sleek like whatever she did to him but she seemed to appreciate it.

"When was the last time you got a sprained ankle?"

He set the supplies on the living room table. "A few months before detention, takin' out the trash."

"That's it?" She asked in disbelief, expecting some elaborate tale he was known for spewing together in split seconds.

"Missed the step and...  _oops_. Sorry it's nothin' exciting." Claire's laugh was one of the sweetest things he'd ever heard. He wanted to kick himself for thinking that. How the mighty have fallen. "I almost got one the Friday I pulled the fire alarm. Dick may be a brownie hound but that guy can fuckin'  _run_ when provoked."

Claire's brow quirked. "I'm sure you did plenty of that."

"He had it comin'," He replied. "Anyways, I get more popped shoulders than broken ankles."

"How come?"

"The usual. Fights," John said casually. "Or hoppin' out my window before my old man can wail on me."

John had been around her long enough to tell when she was uncomfortable. The slump of her shoulders at the mention of his dad was a dead giveaway. And the very slight way her brows knitted together, like she wanted to say something and ended up keeping it inside her mind. It was for the best.

"Can you take me upstairs?"

It was a mission all on its own but he managed help her up the stairs with no casualties between them.

He was extremely surprised the first time he came in and found that the walls  _weren't_  pink. They were actually a nice shade of purple that looked blue depending on the lighting. He expected the huge bed though, big enough to fit three people.

And the TV, of course. All the rooms had one.

"Can we watch a movie?" She said, putting pillows behind her back. She turned on the lamp on her nightstand.

Claire slept with one but had a bunch for decoration. She'd throw them on the floor when it was time to sleep and John thought that was a complete  _waste_. He took the liberty of using them the nights he slept over.

"Can I pick it this time?" Claire opened her mouth but John interrupted. "Look, if I have to watch another chick flick, or those musical cartoons of yours, I might just chuck myself out the window."

"They're Disney movies, John," She said in that corrective tone. " _Not_  cartoons."

"Same difference. What's your point?"

" _Fine_ ," Even with his back turned he knew Claire pouted and crossed her arms. "But no Star Wars!"

John groaned, his finger inches away from the Empire Strikes back tape. "You're totally missin' out, Cherry. It's probably the one of the few things Big Bri and I agree on."

"That's because he's a  _nerd_. He loves all that sci-fi stuff."

"He'd take offense to that. He's a geek. There's a difference this time."

" _Whatever_!" He grinned at her frustrated tone. "Just pick a movie!"

John picked Rocky because it was decent and Claire had never seen it.

He sat next to her, leaning back against her mountain of pillows she set up earlier. Her head found its usual spot on his shoulder blade while his arm made its way around her waist, pulling her closer.

Honestly, Claire didn't need pillows because  _he_  was the pillow. And she was  _his_  blanket—soft and warm. What bothered him is how much he didn't fucking mind. Not one bit, even if she did drool.

"Thank you," she said softly, a few minutes into the movie. "For taking care of me. You didn't have to do it."

"Just returnin' the favor," He said dismissively. "No big deal."

She lifted her head, her jaw clenching. "You think of what I do for you as a  _favor_?"

"Why else would you do it?" He fired back, coming out harsher than intended.

Claire surprised him by bursting into a laugh, burying her head in his shoulder.

His brows furrowed. Yelling at him was something he expected. Claire was quick to anger just as much as him sometimes.

"What the hell's  _so_  funny?"

She looked up, a sickeningly sweet smile gracing her lips. "You know, you're  _really_  smart—probably one of the smartest guys I know besides Brian—but sometimes," The hand on his torso came up slowly to cup his jaw, nails grazing his skin, sending chills down his spine. "You're  _so_ unbelievably dense."

It was still hard to believe Claire  _liked_  being close to him, much less kissing him. She had the softest pair of lips he'd ever had the pleasure of tasting. And when she touched him with those dainty hands of hers, he felt like he could die right then and there and be happy. She always found a way to leave him tongue tied.

He knew exactly why he wouldn't stop coming over. She had become his safe place. And as long as she was fine with it, he'd always find his way here.

He was truly a selfish prick.

"I like you. That's why I do it." She whispered against his lips, placing her forehead on his.

His fingertips traced mismatched patterns on the small of her back. It would've been _better_  if they had way less clothing on but this was nice too.

"Seems we have another thing in common."

She pulled back, cocking her eyebrow playfully. "You make it sound like a terrible thing."

"It's not…" He licked the inside of his mouth. "Just means that we really  _are_  more alike than we seem."

And that he was wrong for what he said way back in detention, but he'd never mumble an apology over that. It was long over and done with and they had moved on.

Claire nodded shyly, setting her head back on his shoulder.

Of course she made comments about Adrian and Rocky's relationship and some of the—John had to admit, too—hideous fashion choices.

It didn't hit him until near the end of the film, right before Creed and Rocky's match started.

"Hey, you goin' to school tomorrow?"

" _Shit!_  I totally forgot about school!" She rubbed her forehead. "I have to. I have a French exam tomorrow morning. But I might leave after that.  _God_ , I have to walk around in crutches. How  _embarrassing_!"

"So how do you plan to get around?"

"Well, you'll take me in the morning since you're here, right? I'll probably ask Brian to help me out, if I can find him. He already has a hall pass because of all his clubs."

John stayed quiet though his lips tugged upwards.

Claire took his silence as disapproval and continued. "Oh-kay... So, should I ask Allison, then? I could call her now."

When John still didn't answer, Claire lifted her head to look at him suspiciously. "I'm not gonna even mention Andy. So are you telling me that  _you_  want to follow me around school  _and_  carry my stuff?"

"What kind of guy would I be if I let my girl walk around without me?" He said smoothly, hiding the smile with a lick of his lips.

She frowned. "You let me walk alone.  _A lot_ , actually. What's the  _real_  reason?"

"Nothing! I just can't bear the thought of lettin' anyone else take care of you. You know I can be a quite the possessive guy."

She raised a brow. "You really should stop hanging around Allison. You're picking up her shitty lying habits."

"... And because I'd love nothing more than to see the look on Dick's face when he realizes that hall pass is for me."

Claire rolled her eyes, exhaling. "You really should leave him alone."

"We're like cats and dogs, sweets," He said with grand gestures of his hands. "Tom and Jerry. Ever watched the Coyote and the Road Runner? It's my job to bug the shit out of him for the remainder of my year."

She didn't say anything as she sat up on the bed. John took that as a yes.

"I'm going to sleep." She paused. "I need your help."

"You need me to help you outta that suit?" He asked humorously.

" _Yes_ ," Claire admitted with much reluctance. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

He crawled until he was directly behind her. "How can I help if I can't—"

"You know what I mean!" She seethed.

John pushed her hands away and unbuttoned the neck piece. "Ya know, have I ever told you that you're  _really_  sexy when you're angry?"

"You said that to Andy, remember?"

"You're right," He muttered, sliding the thick straps off her shoulders. His eyes strayed to the freckles on her shoulders. He nipped at the skin. " _But_  it applies for you too."

Claire chuckled softly, shrugging her shoulder away from his mouth. "Nice try, but you're not getting  _any_  tonight. Now can you get me some pajamas?"

John sighed dramatically, getting off the bed. "It was worth a shot."

If Claire were any of his previous flings, he would've  _persuaded_  them. John knew all the right things to say to make them wet. No girl could resist his charm. Claire was the proof of that.

But he wouldn't—couldn't—do that with Claire, now that she was his. Claire was different. Claire wasn't like any girl he knew. And he knew exactly why he didn't want to end it.

He loved her.

She was so much  _more_ —and meant so much more than any of those other girls.  _This_  was the one he wanted to last.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Re-edited as of 7/13/2017
> 
> The ending has been plaguing my mind ever since I posted this, so I had to come back and fix it. It didn't feel complete to me.


End file.
